


Stay Strong

by hearmyvoice



Series: Me Kin: Team Uncle Week [6]
Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Panic Attacks, Team Uncle Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-05 20:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearmyvoice/pseuds/hearmyvoice
Summary: Many people overcome the pain of a loss in various ways. Scrooge? Easy, he does so by reassuring his heavily affected nephew.





	Stay Strong

**Author's Note:**

> **day 6.** hurt/comfort.

The first nights have always been the most difficult.

He was not going to deny it, it had really been hard for him to suddenly receive the news of the death of his younger sister and her husband; the distinguishable great difference in age had made him expect that he would be the first to leave; but fate was cruel, the car accident had occurred because of the rain and an alcoholic driver who had fled and was still being searched.

It had been difficult, but he preferred to take the role of legal guardian of his sister's only children on transferring said burden to Elvira or allowing Child Services to take them away and the system separated them. He would not have been able to see how, after losing their parents, they had to lose their twin and endure mourning alone.

Of course, it cost him, he might think that his wallet had suffered, but it was the price for the protection and happiness of his nephew and niece and he was more than willing to pay it.

But there was no happiness to boast about. The move from the city to the mansion had not been easy, neither for the twins nor for him having to leave behind the place where they had hatched and grown.

He had had to appreciate the twins by passing the five stages of grief. He knew it was normal, that it was fine, and it didn't bother him; but what was abnormal, what was wrong, and what bother him was to see his wee ones—no longer so wee—nightingales so sad and dull, accustomed to seeing them full of life, playing with their cousins or accompanying him on adventures.

Donald had even held on to Gladstone during the funeral just like a scared duckling, allowing Fethry to babble innocently that everything would be fine while he patted his leg; Della had remained expressionless, hiding her face clinging to him, trying to stay strong as she was the alpha twin, Scrooge had seen her crack once her brother had retired to rest, exhausted by the immense sea of emotions he experienced.

Currently the old duck was roaming the halls of the huge mansion, unconcerned with the direction that his walk could take him, his gaze fixed on his now iced nutmeg tea. It was past midnight, Donald and Della were already sleeping in their shared room.

He did not cry. He had never cried. He did not become the richest duck in the world for crying.

However, he was able to fiercely feel the lump in his throat since Hortense and Quackmore's funeral, expanding when they went to bury them in the graveyard and felt his nephew's tears on his leg.

But he couldn't dare to collapse. He had to be strong for Donald, for Della. Being that pillar that maintained the stability of their now broken kin.

It hurt, of course it hurt. He was not _such_ a callous duck, he also suffered for his closest ones, and he had assured Matilda that once Gladstone had fallen asleep in her arms, trying not to break more than he already was by recognizing a damp stain on his shoulder, product of Donald's tears.

It was his younger sister after all, someone whom he had also lost. And though at the beginning of her relationship with Quackmore the duck had not liked him, he had ended up adopting a place in his family and in his mansion being what made Hortense happy.

Always happy since the arrival of their children to their lifes, Scrooge would never have anticipated that such would be taken from them in such a cruel way.

This pain was not able to wish it to Glomgold. Their relationship was clearly one of bitter enemies, but he could not afford such cruelty.

He sighed heavily, putting his cup of tea on a small table nearby, removing his top hat to run a hand through his already askew feathers when he began to hear the rain fall, coordinating his shattered mood.

_He had to be strong._

A thunder was heard, but the businessman did not even flinch. Not until he heard a gasp from the adjoining hallway.

"It was all my fault!" A broken squawk was heard and Scrooge's heart shrunk, dropping his hat to follow the source of the sound, multiple complaints of self-resounding in the hallway forcing him to turn on the lights before starting to run, having to watch that the lack of dream didn't make him collide with something or break an expensive object.

He would recognize that unique voice wherever he went, and that was what he liked least.

He didn't even bother to knock when he slammed the door open, the hall light allowing him to visualize the interior of the bedroom.

Della rose from the floor, apparently had fallen from the bed. She was trembling, and her sleepy but anguished gaze was directed to the continuous bed, where Donald had hidden under the blankets revealing only his face between sobbing sounds.

He was breathing agitatedly with his bill open, coughing when more tears escaped his eyes.

Scrooge approached slowly, extending his hands towards the boy without touching him, discreetly signaling Della to stay in her spot.

"Donald, Donald, calm doon," he murmured in a vain attempt to reach his nephew emotionally, the roughness in his voice betraying him, "breathe."

"It's my fault, Unca' Scrooge!" He shrieked in a voice thread, coughing again when his breathing had become heavier, preventing his body from fulfilling that need, causing him to start beating the bed and writhing trying to remove the covers from the body, the older one watching the pajamas for a few seconds soaked with sweat. "My fault!"

"Woah, woah, careful lad, ye're going tae hoart yerself." In a broken voice, the old duck approached and hesitantly took the young man by the wrists, his heart breaking when he felt the fast and strong pulsations added to the strong tremors of his body.

Helping Donald to cope with the covers when he sensed the difficulty it took for the duck to breathe. Feeling sweat, Scrooge said nothing when he finally saw the two-piece pajamas bathed.

"Breathe, breathe," he said gently unbuttoning the buttons on his night shirt, seeing tiny drops of sweat bathing the plumage of the boy's chest. "Follow me breath."

For the second time in his life he was really fearful when the duck sobbed allowing a tear to run freely down his cheek taking his uncle from both wrists between shivers.

"It was my fault, Unca' Scrooge," he said once more, releasing both wrists to cover his beak and stomach when he felt nauseous, shuddering when another thunder was heard.

"But wha' are ye talking aboot, lad?" He asked gently, allowing his nephew to explain himself while carefully removing his shirt so that the wee one could breathe.

When they had called him from the hospital next to Elvira, they had explained that this could be normal, since the doctor had not denied the possibility that Donald had witnessed his parents' death by practically demanding that he needed to see them, almost crawling from the bed even though the nurse gently reminded him that he had some wounds to treat, recommending going to a psychotherapist quickly. But that didn't make it less painful for the old man, since the younger twin had always been more prone to show his feelings unlike his sister.

That now panic attacks will occur, especially at such a premature age, discouraged him more.

"I kill them, Unca' Scrooge," he said. Despite the surprise, the elder patted the duck's back gently. "I killed them because of my bad luck."

"Wha'…?" He spat, having to fight his willpower so as not to raise his voice at the thoughts that were formulated in his nephew's mind. He heard the grinding of a mattress next to him, and with a gesture he told the other duckling to stay in her bed.

He had to take care of that.

"Donald, we both know tha' is not true." Holding a hand on the duck's agitated chest, he continued to indicate how to breathe. "Yer luck had nothing tae do wi'h this, Ah forbid ye tae think like tha'."

"But..." A shiver ran through him, and he stopped both hands in his lap, _should he tell him that he also wet the bed?_ He mentally questioned himself, _he was too old to wet the bed, but sooner or later his uncle would find it out and he would rather he did it sooner._

He sighed heavily, reluctantly following his uncle's instructions despite the tranquility that followed.

"Nae, Donald, nobody was tae blame here. Yer luck woold never make such atrocities happen, th' kindness in yer heart is greater. Please dinnae think tha' again." His voice broke. When he felt Donald's heartbeat begin to stabilize, he stroked his back and forth.

The young duck looked at him with teary eyes, being in the receptive field of Scrooge's watchful eye. "Sorry," he murmured under his breath, looking down.

"De' ye want me tae walk ye?" Ye need tae breathe, Ah coold tell Duckworth tae make ye a glass of warm milk," he suggested giving him a warm smile.

However, the shudder that appeared when another thunder rang out, following the stress of his nephew when he was recently orphaned by associating it with his bad luck stopped him at his request. If it weren't for the bad weather that only contributed to his panic, Scrooge would have taken him to the pool.

"We can watch a movie, the one ye want. Della, ye and Ah", he added, finally including his niece when he perceived her still awake, recognizing that he was not dealing with someone who was also fighting the death of her parents and also staying strong for her younger brother.

He had to distract them so they wouldn't think about it, and watching a movie that could be comedy could relax them until finally the dream beat them again.

Donald nodded slowly and did not resist when his uncle carried him in his arms. In other circumstances he would have said that he was already ten-years-old, that he was no longer ready to be scooped, but his emotional state was stronger.

Though his pride was not so much when Scrooge sensed an unusual sensation of moisture in his pants, muttering a sheepish apology before hiding his face.

The elder sighed heavily.

_He had to stay strong, and find an excellent psychotherapist pronto._


End file.
